


The Hunter Home from the Hill

by Prochytes



Category: Being Human
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prochytes/pseuds/Prochytes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some, the Door is not the only option.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunter Home from the Hill

**Author's Note:**

> Slight spoilers for the S2 finale. Written to a prompt by Valderys for dark_fest on LJ in 2010.

There is an absolute wrongness to a bleeding ghost that only a vampire can appreciate.

 

Annie’s cardigan hung in shreds from her shoulders. What remained was steeped in blood, great blots of Mitchell’s Ruin blackening the grey. From every heightened sense, Mitchell knew it was not real.

 

His eyes returned to Annie’s face, and he knew it was.

 

“Honestly, Mitchell,” Annie was trying to smile reassurance, “you look like you’ve seen a… me. This really isn’t as bad as you think.”

 

“Like _fuck_ it isn’t, Annie.” Mitchell went on pacing irresolutely. He wondered how one tended to ghostly wounds. You couldn’t very well kill a bottle of Dettol and use that. After all the decades he had known Annie, there was still so much about her he did not understand. “You were gone for days, and then you come back looking like this. Where did you go? And what the hell was there that could do this to you?”

 

Annie averted her eyes and bit her lip.

 

“Annie?”

 

“I found The Hunt.” The ghost’s voice was so quiet that even Mitchell could barely make it out. His face darkened.

 

“The Hunt’s a myth.”

 

“Yes. And I found it. Have you forgotten what we are, Mitchell? I found the Hunt, and met its Master. And then… then I begged.”

 

“What did The Master say?” Mitchell forced the question from dry lips.

 

“Nothing. He may not even have understood what I was asking. There was no English, when he turned down his Door. There were no _doors_ , when he turned down his Door. I wonder what They sent when people died, that long ago?” Annie essayed another smile. “Probably just an animal hide hanging in a cave mouth.”

 

Mitchell was not deflected. “What happened after that?” Annie’s flinch made him wince, but he persisted: “I have to know, Annie. Please.”

 

“The Master got angry. And when I wouldn’t leave… he set the Pack on me.”

 

The vampire closed his eyes for a moment, and swallowed. “All of them? They all responded?”

 

“All of them, Mitchell.” Again, Annie would not meet his gaze. “Every single one.”

 

Mitchell turned away. The cool almost-pressure at his elbow told him that Annie had touched his arm.

 

“It’s not over, Mitchell. I’ll rest, and heal, and try again.”

 

“There’s no point, Annie. From what you say, he’s forgotten who he was. Trying to bring him back almost destroyed you. How can you go on harrowing Hell for me and him?”

 

“Because you two did it once for me.” Annie sighed and dropped her hand. “There’ll be another night, Mitchell. There’ll always be another night.”

 

_This is the tale of the Wild Hunt, of the antlered man, surrounded by his pack of loping shadow. Some aver he is a god, or Herne the Hunter, but these do not speak truly. The wise know him for what he is: the first human who died with a werewolf’s teeth in his throat. They know that the Hunt is his vengeance._

 

_The Master’s Pack is strong and swift. Some say that the dogs of the pack can catch the scent of a story and track the very footfalls of a dream. But these, too, speak without knowledge._

 

_There are no dogs, in the Master’s Pack._

 

 

FINIS


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